Hey, Have You Met Beer?
by ADozenWerds
Summary: Alfred F. Jones is your average renowned third wheel struggling with almost as many problems in his career as in his love life (which is already pretty lame and virtually nonexistent). Me? I'm your average, awesomer-than-average guy—awesome hair, awesome musical talents, awesome fluffy avian wingman—and I'm going to teach him how to live. Human AU
1. Pilot

**A/N: Because I've had this plot bunny for a while that's loosely based on the premise of the TV show How I Met Your Mother but not exactly. (And I mean the PREMISE, which would be something along the lines of a group of friends in an urban setting with a main character that pretty much goes through a bunch of romantic adventures/misadventures while trying to find "The One", though it might get tweaked a little . . . you'll see. ^J^) Then I've had this plot bunny for a fic that involves Prussia' blog. Like, a lot. So I did the only reasonable thing I could in this situation:**

 **I combined them. ^J^ And what better time to post this than on Valentine's Day?**

 **I'd say more, but I would probably be giving away several spoilers if I did. But I will mention that this fic will probably also be a good way to cycle through multiple ships (yes, "cycle") when we follow them through some romantic adventures, though the shippiness doesn't really pick up in this chapter. (More notes at the bottom.) Now, without further ado, I present _Hey, Have You Met Beer?_**

 **. . . Right after the summary.**

 **Summary: Alfred F. Jones is your average renowned third wheel struggling with almost as many problems in his career as in his love life (which is already pretty lame and virtually nonexistent). Me? I'm your average, awesomer-than-average guy—awesome hair, awesome musical talents, awesome fluffy avian wingman—and I'm going to teach him how to live. Human AU**

 **Disclaimer: I own neither Hetalia: Axis Powers, How I Met Your Mother, nor IKEA.**

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 **Roderich and Elizabeta are NOT getting married, Alfred.**

 **2016 February 14 (Sunday)**

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Because for some reason, Alfred seems convinced that they're engaged. PFFT. Yeah, right. As if they would ever become some lame married couple! Seriously, let me replay the conversation and you can totally see for yourself:

"Roderich and Elizabeta are not getting married," is what I told him right after he said it, leaning back against my barstool. (It was a really nice barstool, actually. I'm going to have to ask Carlos where he gets them from. Seriously, they're all soft and [ _A section of this text has been omitted due to it being dubbed "entirely unrelated to the topic of this post"._ ]) Alfred raised his eyebrows dubiously.

"Is that so?" he asked, sounding not at all like he believed his best friend. Me. _I'm_ his best friend.

"Well, yeah," I scoffed as I reached a hand forward to accept our drinks from the bartender, because clearly Alfred was in denial. Poor guy. "Elizabeta's too awesome to get married. Plus, we both know that Roderich would never grow the balls to propose to her."

"He told us what he was planning three months ago."

I handed over Alfred's drink and gave him a sympathetic pat on the back. " _Planning_ to."

Alfred rolled his eyes as he took the drink. His denial was worse than I thought. "He bought a ring for her and everything. And made us go with him to make sure he didn't get lost on his way back."

"It could've been for himself. He's stuffy enough for one."

"He made us clean the apartment and decorate it with rose petals and hang up weird yaoi posters on the walls and bring tissues in case she broke out in tears."

Roderich did. And it totally sucked.

I raised my drink to take a long sip. "He makes us clean the apartment all the time." And again, it totally sucked. Every. Single. Time. "And the tissues were probably there to stifle her nosebleed."

"Dude, we took a wine glass from the cupboard and stood outside the apartment door for fifteen minutes with it pressed up against the side so that we could hear him pop the question. And then half of it totally chipped off when she screamed 'yes' and the rest of it shattered when we dropped it because the force of her glomping him immediately after that caused the floor to shake. Then we had to borrow the neighbor's dustpan to clean it up."

Ha. _Suuure_.

"So what you're saying is you have no evidence," I said pointedly, setting down my empty cup.

Alfred raised his eyebrows, flicking his eyes at the glass. "Then why did you finish your drink so fast?"

" _Because that's what you do when your best friends are getting married, Al_!" I exclaimed, throwing my hands up in the air for emphasis. I mean, it looks dramatic when they do that in the movies, so why not all the time, right? Plus, my alternative for dramatic effect was to smash my drink against the counter, but that wouldn't work because a) Carlos would kill me if I broke it, b) I'd already set my drink down at this point because I can and I'm awesome like that, and c) Carlos would kill me if I broke it.

Speaking of Carlos, he hastily passed me another drink, and I was even quicker to fling the contents of it down my throat. When I turned back to Alfred, I was shaking my head in disapproval. "Man, Al, try to keep up with these things, will you?"

"If you say so, bro," he replied, taking a sip out of his own cup. I swear I saw him grin just then. Why the heck would he be grinning at a time like THIS?

"Nein, nein!" I waved him off with my free hand as I set down my second glass. "No, a _true_ bro will be a good wingman and help his best friend pick up chicks."

"Ironically enough, you already have a chick to be your wingman," Alfred reminded me. He looked to where Gilbird—Wait, have I mentioned Gilbird on this blog yet? Huh, I don't think I have.

Okay, quick background on Gilbird: Gilbird is a fluffy yellow chick—but he's totally a bro—that I dubbed after myself because he's awesome enough to handle it. I don't know how we met, exactly, but one day I just looked up and noticed that there was some random-but-totally-awesome chick flying around my head. And, because he actually has wings and because he's totally adorable and it's really cute when he—POINT IS, chicks dig him, so he's my avian wingman.

At the moment, though, Gilbird appeared to be getting drunk off a mysterious clear liquid and was tottering around the counter and looked dangerously close to falling on his face. _Claaassic_ Gilbird.

Alfred tapped the bartender on the shoulder. "Hey Carlos, dude, who got Gilbird drunk this time?"

Carlos followed Alfred's gaze and shrugged. "Don't know, man. That's just water."

Moving on from their brief exchange, I slung an arm around Alfred and said as I casually led him a few steps further along the counter with two beers in hand, "Oh, Freddy-boy, you know what you need to do?"

"Make sure Gilbird doesn't fall of the table?"

Right on cue (because I'm awesome like that), I snatched up my fuzzy little wingman as he teetered off the edge and set him back down in the middle of the counter. (But I'm not entirely sure how I managed to balance both beers at the same time. Ah, awesomeness can do that to you.) "There's that, but then again, there's the art of picking up _other_ chicks. And I know just the way to do it."

"Dude, you don't mean—"

Having discreetly edged both of us close to an unfamiliar patron who was sitting alone at the counter, I put my awesome plan into motion. Tapping him twice on his shoulder, I slid one beer in front of the man and put the other in Alfred's hand and asked, "Hey, have you met beer?" and then vanished.

Well, that's how it should have gone. The "asked, 'Hey, have you met beer?' and then vanished" part didn't exactly happen. As in, the man turned to face with a super serious glare, pushed the beer away from him on the counter, and demanded, "How fun. Now what's the meaning of this?"

And you know, I totally didn't stutter and my finger totally didn't shake in the slightest when I pointed at the glass I'd stuck in Alfred's hand and said, "H-h-hey, have you m-met beer?"

Long story short, I'm totally not typing this up right now with a black eye. Happy Valentine's Day to me.

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 **[Comments (4)] [Show comments]**

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 **Carlos Machado: Yo! Gilbert, I told you!**

As for your wondering about where I get the stools, didn't I already tell you I get them from IKEA? I can show you where they are, if you want!

Carlos Machado 2016-02-14

 **Gilbert Beilschmidt: I'll pass**

Yeah, you did. But they have that salesman that goes "hmm" all the time and gives these seriously freaky looks! ! Not that it freaks ME out or anything of course because I'm totally awesome

Gilbert Beilschmidt 2016-02-14

 **Carlos Machado: Kay!**

Remember, it's IKEA!

Just go there and get some already if you like the stools so much! Maybe you could get a sample!

Carlos Machado 2016-02-14

 **Berwald Oxenstierna: IKEA**

Thank you, Mr. Machado. You are a valued patron here at IKEA.

(But please don't associate our business with "stool samples".)

Gilbert Beilchmidt:

We at IKEA eagerly await your visit.

Berwald Oxenstierna 2016-02-14

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 **Notes on this Chapter:**

 **Prussia, Prussia, Prussia. All you wanted to do was be a wingman.**

 **This is my first Hetalia human AU (originally I planned to keep them as nations, but then I realized that that might be a little too complicated for the plot *sweatdrops*) so I'll make a quick list of the characters so far. Austria: Roderich Edelstein. Hungary: Elizabeta Hedervary. America: Alfred F. Jones. Prussia: Gilbert Beilschmidt. Gilbird: Gilbird. Sweden: Berward Oxenstierna.**

 **I made Cuba the bartender because there's a bartender named "Carl" in How I Met Your Mother and "Carlos" happened to be one of the human names suggested for Cuba. ^J^ "Machado" was apparently Cuba's suggested human surname, so that's what I used. I think it works out pretty well.**

 **And more on the "cycling through ships" thing, well, you should probably expect some of the characters to go through multiple relationship statuses in this fic. *grins deviously***

 **Feedback is greatly appreciated! Oh, and guess whose shoulder Prussia tapped. ^J^**


	2. Two in a Row

**A/N: So yeah, Prussia's blog is probably going to be in real time by the day (but not by hour, since I'm not going to stay up late just to post his nightly bar escapades). Expect chapters of this to be posted about maybe two times per week or so? I haven't quite figured that part out yet. *sweatdrops* I didn't quite expect to type up this chapter today, but, well, here it is. ^J^ The romance doesn't quite pick up in this chapter yet, but it's coming!**

 **Disclaimer: I own neither Hetalia: Axis Powers, How I Met Your Mother, nor IKEA.**

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 **I know I'm being pranked, guys (called it!)**

 **2016 February 15 (Monday)**

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I got invited to lunch with Roderich and Elizabeta and so I went because, you know, free food! (And I guess their company's not too bad, despite how much lamer Elizabeta is now that she's started wearing dresses. I mean, I like dresses as much as the next guy, but just . . . nein.)

But even though she's in a skirt, Elizabeta can still run very fast, as I found out when I suggested that she take off the ring already because I know they're just pranking me and aren't really getting married and suddenly out of nowhere she was all "What did you say?" and decided to chase me out of their apartment (the whole building, not just the room; good exercise, but totally unawesome). She was in the middle of cooking, so she had to turn off the fire because, you know, safety first and all that stuff. However, she was still holding the freaking FRYING PAN, and so that is the story of how I had to outrun a hunk of hot metal. And because the doctor gave me some lame eyepatch, I kept bumping into things on my way out. Stupid lack of depth perception.

Then for lunch all I got was the pity food that Roderich gave me through the fire escape because his girlfriend—as in definitely NOT fiancée, as in definitely NOT engaged—locked the door and wouldn't let me back in. Thanks a lot, Lizzy.

Seriously, though, just give it up already. We all know you're not ACTUALLY getting married . . . right?

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 **[Comments (3)] [Show comments]**

 **Elizabeta Hedervary: Suuure**

Just like how YOU'RE totally not ACTUALLY going to pay for that vase you cracked on your way out. Thanks a lot, Gil.

Elizabeta Hedervary 2016-02-15

 **Berwald Oxenstierna: IKEA**

If there is any other furniture you would like, IKEA would gladly be of service.

Berwald Oxenstierna 2016-02-15

 **Elizabeta Hedervary: See? HE gets it!**

Thank you, Berwald. Take notes, Gilbert. I like this guy.

Elizabeta Hedervary 2016-02-15

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 **Night** **2: The Awesome Me REtruns. RETURNS, DAMMIT.**

 **2016 February 15 (Monday)**

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"But we already went to the bar _yesterday_ ," whines he. "Also, don't you think it's a bad idea to be here when you can only see out of one eye?" asks he.

"Come on," I said, dragging him along, "Yesterday doesn't count!"

"Because you totally got punched in the eye?"

"Because we cut the night short!"

"To drive you to the hospital because you totally got punched in the eye. Seriously, Gilbert, I don't know about this . . ."

But I still convinced Alfred to go to the bar with me because I'm awesome like that. (And I guess it didn't hurt when I persuaded him that people go nuts when a man wears an eyepatch, especially when he has a matching hook hand.) However, I wasn't so successful with Gilbird, who ignored me and took a nap instead.

And so, with my awesome eyepatch on, I made Alfred scan the room for potential victims—I mean targets—I mean—Oh, you know what I mean—as I ordered our drinks from Carlos. While he's busy grabbing our beers, Alfred suddenly nudges me in the arm, points across the bar, and says in an awe-filled voice (so I know whoever he's pointing to HAS to be pretty hot), "Hey Gilbert, see that guy?"

I followed his finger to see a guy with glasses standing on the other side of the room quietly talking to someone else. One strand of hair flies away from the rest and hangs near his face, curling partway down so that it looks kind of like a spring. You could tell he wasn't really much of a loud person, and he didn't have much of a presence in the room. If Alfred hadn't been pointing to him, I'd probably have missed him entirely.

And yet, as I stared at that guy on the far side of the bar, his gaze shifted a bit to the side, causing us to make accidental eye contact (his looked kind of purple, by the way) for one brief moment. He looked away just as quickly, but for that one moment, I felt everything suddenly come into perspective and I just _knew_ why Alfred had picked out this one person from the crowd.

"Ja, you just _know_ he has a pirate kink," I agreed, taking my beer from Carlos. I raised the glass to him as I took a sip. "Thank you, Carlos. As for you, eyepatch, I am _so_ sorry for calling you lame in my blog post, because you're about to help me do some plundering and get some booty. Pirate puns, am I right?"

Alfred, who had already taken his own drink from Carlos, gags on it at this.

"W-what?" he splutters. Meanwhile, I watch as Mr. Pirate Kink makes his way over to the counter. "No, I-I mean just look at him, he looks almost exactly like m—"

"I know, I know, you're the one who called dibs," I assured him, already grabbing our drinks in order to execute my most honorable and awesome duties. "Don't worry. As your wingman, I am _on it_."

With that, I tapped Mr. Pirate Kink on the shoulder, set one glass of beer in front of him, said, "Hey, have you met beer?", patted Alfred supportively on the back, and then left him to fend for himself. What? The kid's got to have some hands-on learning at some point. I'll have to ask him how it went later . . .

As for how my pirate escapade went, it turns out that you actually _shouldn't_ try sweet-talking someone with a hook hand. Who knew? Eyepatch, I hereby suspend my apology until further notice.

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 **[Comments (1)] [Show comments]**

 **Carlos Machado: That explains a lot!**

I was wondering why one of our customers was complaining about someone "getting too handsy with a hook"!

Seriously, though, don't do that again.

Carlos Machado 2016-02-15

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 **Notes on this Chapter:**

 **. . . I don't know if receiving "IKEA" comments from Sweden is going to be a recurring theme here . . . *sweatdrops***

 **Prroobbably should've mentioned that Gilbert might be kind of a womanizer. Er, man-manizer. I'm not sure what it's called, but you'll probably get to see him going after both. ^J^**

 **Mr. Pirate Kink and Gilbert's Black Eye Guy from the previous chapter aren't the same person, but you'll be seeing more of both later! Feedback is greatly appreciated!**


	3. Meet Matthew

**A/N: Typing up these on consecutive days probably won't be such a normal occurrence, but I just couldn't help myself! *sweatdrops* (There's no IKEA in this chapter, but Berwald will probably return later on.) Also, in response to reviewer Nihonko . . . a) *digital high five* and b) I think you're about to receive your answer. ^J^**

 **Disclaimer: I own neither Hetalia: Axis Powers, How I Met Your Mother, nor IKEA.**

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 **Alfred landed a date!**

 **2016 February 16 (Tuesday)**

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Hey guys, it's Gilbert, and I say I'm totally awesome to cover up my secret loneliness and clearly I'm drunk if I think I can actually make Alfred stay to write this entire blog posEJWEeksljfI

Okay, _fine_ , it's actually Alfred. Calm down, dude! (But you know I'm right and don't even try to deny it, Gil.) What do you mean, I'm typing what I say? Huh? Oh, right, the blog post.

So . . . yeah. I landed a dinner date and Gilbert's kind of sort of blackmailing me into writing a post on this random blog of his explaining how. (He's breathing down my neck as I type this. Personal space, dude! Yeah, that's a good distance.) Look, all you need to know is his name's Matthew, I asked him nicely, and he said y—Ow! Quit hitting me! Wait, isn't that Liz's frying pan? Where'd you get that from? Fine, I'll do a flashback if you reeaally want me to so badly!

Stupid blackmail.

After Gilbert so courteously up and ditched me last night, leaving me with a glass of beer, someone who was pretty much my doppelganger, and absolutely nothing to talk about (thanks a lot, Gil), it was actually Carlos who helped break the awkward silence.

"Wow, you guys look a lot alike," he noted, sounding surprisingly impressed. Which is a tone I rarely hear from Carlos, since, well, it's a long story. Maybe I'll tell it to you dudes sometime later if Gilbert ever decides to blackmail me into writing his blog post again. "You brothers or something?"

"N-no, I don't think we've ever met," Matthew stuttered out. And, since Matthew's all polite and from growing up in . . . uh . . . whatever you call that place up north, he extends his hand and introduces himself all formally, "I'm Matthew Williams."

"Alfred F. Jones," I replied (because that middle initial adds to the mystery factor, which every superhero's—Well, I should probably stop this explanation before I ruin that mystery factor), setting down my beer so that I could shake his hand. I glanced at his drink, which was still sitting neglected on the counter and raised my eyebrows. "Dude, are you going to touch your beer?"

Matthew was confused. "My . . . ?"

"Your beer," I repeated, gesturing more obviously at his cup.

"Oh, you mean that!" he exclaimed, his eyes widening in realization (they look kind of purple, by the way, and—Oh, you already described him? Fine, fine, I'll continue the story). When he saw my expectant look, he laughed sheepishly as he eyed as he picked it up, "Sorry about that. I'm not really used to having people actually noticing me enough to get me a drink."

But something that he said caught my attention.

"Whoa, dude! Did you just say 'aboot'? You're totally—"

 _CANADIAN_! _That's_ the word!

But I kind of sort of shouted it out _reeaally_ loudly, almost causing Carlos to drop a bunch of bottles in surprise (I actually did make him do that sometime in the past month or so, but that's not the reason why our relationship's kind of rocky). "Whoops. Sorry, Carlos."

"Nah, no harm done that time," Carlos assured me dismissively, waving it off as he handed off the bottles to someone else at the bar. Huh. Maybe seeing double has a pacifying effect on him. As he took another order, he suggested, "You know, the two of you should really get to know each other better! Like over dinner or something. It doesn't even have to be here or today, I don't mind, guys."

"Really?" I perked up at this. "That's an awesome idea! Thanks, Carlos!"

"No problem, you bastard," Carlos grinned good-naturedly. "A guy should get to know his doppelganger, after all."

"So, Mattie—"

"Matthew," said Matthew.

"—what do you say?" I finished, taking a swig of my beer as I waited for his answer. Matthew thought for a moment, looking contemplatively between me and Carlos, who looked almost as anticipant as I did.

Now that I think about it, that guy is really involved in his patron's lives. Kudos to that, Carlos.

"Alright," Matthew finally said with an exhale after what felt like forever. "We can have dinner."

. . . And that's pretty much how Matthew and I wound up scheduling dinner with each other this weekend. Wait, what was that again, Gil? No, I said _dinner_ date! It's a totally casual thing! That's it, I'm changing the title of this post.

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 **Alfred Jones: Dammit, Gil!**

. . . That was the "Send" button, wasn't it?

Alfred Jones 2016-02-16

 **Elizabeta Hedervary: I'M SO PROUD OF YOU ALFRED. You're FINALLY returning to the world of romance! As for YOU, Gil . . .**

What was that about you and my frying pan?

Elizabeta Hedervary 2016-02-16

 **Alfred Jones: Dude, it's NOT a date!**

Also, Gil's currently fleeing his apartment so you can probably catch him if you run fast enough.

Alfred Jones 2016-02-16

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 **No** **Title**

 **2016 February 16 (Tuesday)**

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typing this with one thumnb. im gonna need to get a cast. and plot my revenge. totally unawesome al

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 **[Comments (3)] [Show comments]**

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 **Alfred Jones: Aw, but it was Elizabeta!**

It's not my fault that she can outrun you! Plus, I thought she'd go easy on a guy with a black eye!

Alfred Jones 2016-02-16

 **Elizabeta Hedervary: I did go easy.**

Thanks for returning my frying pan, Gil! It was wonderful seeing you again. ^w^

I heard you've been having a bit of a dry spell at the bar. Hope this doesn't keep you away for too long! Wouldn't want you to go through promiscuity withdrawal, now would we?

Elizabeta Hedervary 2016-02-16

 **Gilbert Beilschmidt: fcak you liz**

ja, you hearsds me

Gilbert Beilschmidt 2016-02-16

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 **Notes on this Chapter:**

 **Let's see here: Alfred's date is on the weekend, Elizabeta can outrun Gilbert, and Gilbert's probably going to be paying a visit to the hospital because apparently an adrenaline rush isn't enough to escape her. Striking out three nights in a row? *shakes head sadly***

 **And now we can add Canada to our list of characters! Canada: Matthew Williams. Feedback is greatly appreciated!**


	4. Meet the Cast

**A/N: I'm sorry if this chapter seems rushed in any way, but I had to get it posted today because a) *cough*SPOILERS*cough* here, Prussia describes more about what happens to him after his car ride to the hospital that we left off on yesterday and b) OVER FIVE FOLLOWERS? THAT'S SO AWESOME I CAN'T EVEN—**

 **In response to reviewer fishstick1999 . . . Can you read my mind? ^J^ Right now, it's a bit of the opposite, but yes, I do plan to include both in this fic eventually because I happen to have a soft spot for them, though it'll probably be a while further down the road. (My estimates would probably place the former to pop up sometime around late March or April, and the latter around late February or March, but then again, I didn't think that I'd be updating this fic so quickly . . . so it's probably give or take. ^J^)**

 **All cards on the table, this fic will cycle through a lot of ships, so I can't confirm or deny that they'll be endgame, though. (I haven't really thought so much about how this will end, so no guarantees for anything! But I'm pretty sure that this fic is going to wind up being pretty lengthy, so I hope you enjoy the ride. ^J^)**

 **Disclaimer: I own neither Hetalia: Axis Powers, How I Met Your Mother, IKEA, nor Great Wolf Lodge.**

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 **Mein Freaky Doctor**

 **2016 February 17 (Wednesday)**

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Have I ever told you about my doctor? Ja? Nein? Well, if I haven't, then it was probably to prevent you from having nightmares, so you can thank me for that later. But not right now, since I'm about to tell you a little bit about him and possibly give you nightmares. After I give you some background. Point is, you better listen up!

So yesterday, after Liz bent my fingers into shapes that fingers aren't meant to be bent into, Al—*cough* _that TRAITOR_ *cough*—was the one who hailed a taxi to drive us to the hospital. Why did he hail the taxi if my arm was totally fine? Well, apparently taxi drivers don't like seeing someone waving a hand at them when the fingers vaguely resemble things you might find on a "Types of Pasta" diagram. Believe me, it doesn't feel anywhere close to how awesome it sounds. But I'm getting totally off-topic.

Anyway, before I tell you about my doctor, I have to tell you about the waiting room. Why? For one, the whole check-in process went much smoother than I thought so there's not much to talk about there, and for another, something big happens in there. You still listening? Good. You should be.

As I said, checking in, though kind of time-consuming, went pretty smoothly, and so Alfred and I went into the waiting room because apparently, having your fingers beat up by a vengeful woman armed with a frying pan isn't considered severe enough to be admitted right away. Which is what I was about to complain to the stranger on my left about—because, y'know, strangers are supposed to be supportive, right? (Unlike Alfred, who just patted me on the shoulder and said something like "Yeah, yeah buddy. You think _that's_ bad? I have to wait—" and then referenced some obscure commercial for, like, some random lodge or something; seriously, I worry about him sometimes)—only to find out that, well, you know that guy on my left I just mentioned? He wasn't a stranger at all.

He was the guy who punched me in the face two days ago and gave me a black eye.

And apparently Alfred recognized him, too, since he almost immediately sprang out of his seat and laughed, "Well, dude, I'm going to go look for a . . . um . . . vending . . . mechanical . . . thing. I'll get you a soda or something."

And then he just up and _leaves_. Seriously! Like, what kind of totally lame guy abandons his best friend in his time of need with a guy he barely kno—

. . . Stupid universe. And, because it just likes to pick on me, Black Eye Guy just _happens_ to turn around at that moment and notices me, too.

"Oh look, it's you again. How fun," he sighed. "Did you invade someone else's personal space too?"

" _No_ ," I scoffed. ". . . I stole my friend's frying pan."

"So he biked over your hand?"

"Nein," I scoffed again, because I'm awesome like that. ". . . She beat me up with it."

If Black Eye Guy noticed this change of pronouns, his face didn't give anything away. "Really? How fun. You'll have to introduce me to this friend of yours."

"Don't get your hopes up about it," I snorted. "She has a boyfriend, you know."

" _A FIANCÉ_!" Al called from somewhere down the hall. Black Eye Guy frowned disapprovingly at the loud sound. Al, Al, Al. I know you like pranks, but this is just sad.

"Don't worry, he's just kidding," I assured him, waving it off dismissively.

" _I'M NOT KIDDING, GILBERT_!"

"See?" I grinned, elbowing him pointedly (and awesomely). He moved his arm away (Ahem. LAME. His loss. Totally his.) and I continued, "What a joker, am I right?"

Ignoring my question (Again. LAME.), he gingerly brushed off his elbow and asked, "How fun. So, your name is 'Gilbert'?"

"Nein, nein, you must be mis—"

And, of course, because the universe is as sadistic as Al and Liz and my doctor and B.E. Guy (Yeah, that's his name now) and my doctor and Liz and—Well, ja, a lot of people (especially Liz and my doctor)—my doctor chooses _that_ moment to be "ready to see me".

"Gilbert B-Beilschmidt?" a shaky-looking little guy with a clipboard called.

"Ja?"

"D-Doctor Braginski is r-ready to see you," he stammered out, ducking out of the way when I stood and sighed.

I looked at Black Eye Guy, who was looking at me knowingly. I mean, of course his face still didn't give much away (Seriously, someone should give him a prize for that or something. Engrave his name in it and everything.), but I could pretty much see him laughing at me unawesomely on the inside. "Oh, don't look so smug."

With that, I went for my appointment with Doctor Braginski. His first name's Ivan, and I tried calling him that on my first appointment with him but that made him give me this totally freaky look (You heard me Berwald! This guy's totally competition!) and then he started saying this string of mutter-y Russian words (which I'm pretty sure were curses). The next day, I found myself _back_ at the hospital because after a freaky series of close-calls that included Roderich's piano mysteriously collapsing while I was playing it and Alfred's game system short-circuiting while I was playing _that_ , I still wasn't able to escape from Elizabeta when she caught me playing with her frying pan. So understandably, I didn't try calling him that a second time and everything has been okay ever since. Well, with Roderich's piano and Alfred's game system. Obviously, the Elizabeta thing's still kind of a problem.

This appointment, though, considering that my fingers were all squiggly-looking, he was super calm. Even by Doctor Braginski standards (which would already be surprisingly calm, considering how I swear I can see a dark aura starting to expand behind him every time he smiles. Which is a lot). All he did was take one look at my hand, open up a cabinet full of casts of all different colors and sizes (I'm not even kidding *cough* _Alfred_ *cough*, it was like a fiberglass rainbow in a closet), study it for a bit, pick one, and then pop it right onto my hand, no questions asked, smiling that freaky smile of his all the way through.

Usually, I leave right after he says I'm free to go because he likes to keep the room temperature at, like, below zero, but I couldn't help my curiosity (you know, maybe it even froze some of my brain cells in there, because obviously I wasn't using them if I ever thought it would be a good idea to question Doctor Braginski in any way) and blurted out, "Hey, why're you so calm about this? And what's with the cast collection?"

And, because he's creepy like that, Doctor Braginski just shrugs, "I've seen a lot of my sister's ex-boyfriends."

Remind me to never ask him any more questions.

At least when I walked back out into the lobby, Black Eye Guy was gone. Oh, and apparently, Alfred _did_ get me a soda. Like, a whole gallon of it, which I spent today totally-not-sulkily sipping on because Roderich won't let me go down to the bar because of my new cast.

Stupid cast. But I guess their couch is pretty comfy.

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 **[Comments (2)] [Show comments]**

* * *

 **Berwald Oxenstierna: IKEA**

Perhaps the couch came from IKEA.

Berwald Oxenstierna 2016-02-17

 **Elizabeta Hedervary: What was that about drinking soda on my couch?**

If I catch any stains on it, I'll be at your throat faster than you can say "fcak".

Elizabeta Hedervary 2016-02-17

* * *

 **Notes on this Chapter:**

 **Gilbert's dry spell just got longer.**

 **If you're wondering about Prussia's dramatic lack of typos in this post compared to his previous one, it's thanks to the cast—although it might be more difficult to type in a cast, it's still very much possible (I have a friend who can type fairly well in one, actually). Also, I guess Prussia heals pretty fast . . . because he's awesome like that.**

 **"B.E. Guy": Since, y'know, I couldn't exactly call him "B.E.G." because it looks like "beg" . . . but Prussia only uses "B.E. Guy" to describe him once because "be" is also a word. ^J^ Gilbert still doesn't know his actual name, though.**

 **"'You think _that's_ bad? I have to wait—' and then referenced some obscure commercial for, like, some random lodge or something": Yeah, that's a reference to an actual commercial for this place called "Great Wolf Lodge". I used to see it playing on the TV virtually all the time, but I think it might be kind of outdated now . . . Oh, Alfred.**

 **"'I've seen a lot of my sister's ex-boyfriends.'": Reference to the canon Hetalia webcomic. Has to do with Lithuania.**

 **Also, THERE'S Berwald! Aha! ^J^ I realized that I although I clarified that that Carlos is, indeed, Cuba, I haven't formally added him to our character list yet. Cuba: Carlos Machado. And we can now add another character to our list, too! Russia: Ivan Braginski. ^J^ You'll be seeing more of both!**


	5. Escape Plans

**A/N: . . . Yeah, this chapter is pretty much just filler. You can skip it if you want. ^J^ (Reminder, though, Alfred's dinner date's still set for this weekend!) There are some references to mathematics in the first part of the chapter, but you don't have too look too much into it.**

 **In response to reviewer jessio, happy belated birthday! And yes, there will be eventually, probably in late February or March. ^J^**

 **Warning: You probably shouldn't try Gilbert's How-To. You could get seriously hurt attempting his instructions. Seriously.**

 **Disclaimer: I own neither Hetalia: Axis Powers nor How I Met Your Mother.**

* * *

 **How To: Hook Up with a Girl When Your Friends have Confined You to their Apartment "For Your Own Good"**

 **2016 February 19 (Friday)**

* * *

STEP 1: Take into account your situation. As a test run, I would suggest going to the bar downstairs (yeah, since Roderich and Elizabeta's apartment is right above it . . . and Alfred shares it with them, for whatever reason) and setting a stopwatch from the moment you leave the apartment (Interval A). Stop it and start a new one as soon as you enter the bar (Interval B). Stop it and start a new one as soon as Elizabeta stomps down, yanks you by your awesome leg, and unawesomely drags you back up the stairs (yeah, _drags_ ) because, y'know, she's totally sadistic like that (Interval C). Repeat several times to have a larger data set for each of these intervals, then find the measures of central tendency (mean and median, but you can also try mode if that's how you roll).

STEP 2: Decide whether you want to use the mean, median, or mode for each of the three intervals. Remember it. (For me? My data was skewed, so I used the median. Fifteen seconds to leave the apartment, four minutes and fifteen seconds at the bar, and five and a half minutes being dragged back up the stairs because again, y'know, it's Elizabeta.)

STEP 3: Once you have these values, make sure that you have them memorized. When you've got that down, go into the apartment bathroom and find where Elizabeta keeps her makeup. Apply it to your face so that you resemble those awesome wizarding mentors in just about every fantasy movie ever.

STEP 4: On your next trip down to the bar, lock onto a target and approach him/her. In a rushed (but still-awesome and fantasy-movie-mentor-wizard-like) voice tell him/her, "I don't have much time to say this, but I'm from the future, and if you don't sleep with the one known as 'Gilbert Beilschmidt' tonight, then the Dark Side will win. If you fail to lead him out of this bar and into bed within four minutes and fifteen seconds of his arrival, the cycle will loop itself approximately every six minutes until your mission is complete."

STEP 5: When Elizabeta appears and drags you back while you're still dressed like a fantasy-movie-mentor-wizard, awesomely call out " _TELL MY STORRRYYY_! !" as you are pulled out of the bar. Ignore any strange looks you may receive from Carlos.

STEP 6: Remove Elizabeta's makeup.

STEP 7: Run back into the bar, relocate your target, and use any pickup line of your choice.

STEP 8: When Elizabeta appears and exclaims "GILBERT BEILSCHMIDT, get back here this INSTANT you [ _A section of this text has been omitted due to it being dubbed "entirely inappropriate and overly obscene for the viewership of any audiences anywhere ever"._ ]!", ignore any strange looks you may receive from your target as you are painfully dragged back up the stairs.

STEP 9: Repeat steps 7-8 until you get laid.

. . . Or until Black Eye Guy shows up, shouts "Hey, that's my sister! Oh, it's you. How fun", totally doesn't punch you again, and immediately leaves the bar with your target in tow.

Dammit. I'm going to get some ice for my totally-not-a-black-eye.

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 **[Comments (2)] [Show comments]**

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 **Elizabeta Hedervary: As long as you quit trying to escape the apartment for now, at least.**

But wait, I don't use makeup . . . ? ? ?

Elizabeta Hedervary 2016-02-19

 **Roderich Edelstein: YOU RUINED MY STAGE MAKEUP! HOW COULD YOU?**

Now what am I going to use for my next concert? Thanks a lot, Gilbert. (But if you're so good at math, why did you tell me that nine plus ten is equivalent twenty-one?)

Roderich Edelstein 2016-02-19

* * *

 **Notes on this Chapter:**

 **So, Roderich holds concerts and wears stage makeup for them. Huh. ^J^**

 **And there's another hint about who Black Eye Guy is. *cough*HE'S GOT A SISTER*cough***

 **Also, again, you probably shouldn't follow Gilbert's How-To. You could get seriously hurt. Seriously.**


	6. The End (ofAlfred'sLoveLifeinGeneral)

**A/N: It's FINALLY HERE! Alfred's dinner date! Well, yes, but not quite. You'll see. ^J^ Notes on this chapter are at the bottom, as usual!**

 **In response to reviewer jessio, don't worry, I won't! ^J^ In response to Guest reviewer Guest, I must remain neutral upon this case. *wears neutrally neutral expression***

 **I did some hurrying to finish this chapter, so I apologize in advance if any of it is anywhere less than up-to-Gilbert's-awesome-par. *sweatdrops***

 **Disclaimer: I own neither Hetalia: Axis Powers nor How I Met Your Mother.**

* * *

 **Stiiillll locked in the apartment.**

 **2016 February 20 (Saturday)**

* * *

Since a whole day (well, a whole night) passed and Roderich and Elizabeta and Alfred still felt like being lame and keeping the awesome me unawesomely locked-up in their apartment to keep me from wandering back into the bar and since I was totally not feeling still-sulky since I was totally not punched again by someone who was totally not Black Eye Guy, I think I'm going to pass on following Alfred to his dinner date. It's such a shame that that map with the coordinates of the location of the restaurant and the highlighted line showing his route there and back is going to go to waste, though . . . I had it color-coded and everything . . .

But I'm still going to make him type up a blog post about it later.

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* * *

 **Alfred Jones: I never told you where we were eating, though!**

Dude. Just trash the freaking map.

Alfred Jones 2016-02-20

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 **Elizabeta** **has a van guy! He likes pink! And wearing dresses!**

 **2016 February 21 (Sunday)**

* * *

So, remember when I kind of sort of said in my previous post yesterday that I kind of sort of wasn't going to stalk Alfred all the way to the restaurant which I kind of sort of had the coordinates to (until Alfred made me burn them)? Yeah, scratch that.

This morning, since I apparently fell asleep on their couch last night (it really is comfy, though!), Elizabeta walked by in the middle of putting on her coat. As she passed the couch, she said, "Follow me." but didn't stop to say any further, going straight to the door and pulling it open. Since she didn't elaborate or anything, I wasn't sure if she was actually talking to me or if she'd actually said it at all.

But if you think Elizabeta's giving you even the slightest excuse to leave the apartment, you _take_ Elizabeta's excuse to leave the apartment. Because you're awesome like that.

With that in mind, I quickly hopped off the couch and followed her out of the apartment (she didn't even look behind her to make sure I was tailing her, she just kept walking) and all the way out into the street. Then, out of nowhere, this hunk of a blinding bright pink paintjob suddenly pulls up to the curb, nearly ramming into a "No Parking" sign.

I had to blink twice before I realized that that hulk of neon metal covered in pony bumper-stickers was actually supposed to be a van. But by the time the side door rolled open, Elizabeta's already unawesomely decided to go shotgun without consulting me. When she sees me still standing on the sidewalk, she looks me up and down and says impatiently, "Well? Why are you standing in there? Oh, just get in the van already!"

"But . . . it looks like it would belong to one of those super-girly plastic dolls . . ."

And she just rolls her eyes for totally no reason at all and grabs me by the shirt and yanks me into the van. I slam into what I think is supposed to be my seat (but I can't be sure, because it was also bright pink) as the van takes off before the doors are even halfway closed.

Buckling my seatbelt (because safety is awesome), I looked around to get a load of my surroundings and notice that a) there was this random techie kid sitting in the back surrounded by computers, b) Roderich was sitting in the seat next to me somehow managing to look bored and bewildered at the same time (seriously, how come all the OTHER guys get all the good facial expressions while I'm just sitting here with what is totally still not a black eye?), and c) I had no idea who's driving the van.

I shifted in my seat so that I could take a look. Blonde. Pink skirt. I cleared my throat.

"Well _heellooo_ there," I said, grinning charmingly and awesomely into the rearview mirror. "I totally like your skirt. It already looks great on such a hot chick like you, but don't you think it would look better on the floor of my—"

Elizabeta interrupted, "Gilbert, he's a guy. Male pronouns."

"Don't worry, Liz, it's, like, totally fine," the driver assured her cheerily. "After all, he totally gets the fabulous vibes coming off this skirt! Well, I mean, it's too pink _not_ to get, right?"

"Then I repeat with both more emphasis and awesomeness: Well _HEELLOOO_ there."

"You're _not_ dating my van guy!"

I blinked. "Who said anything about dating?"

And then I got hit by a frying pan and blacked out for the next few minutes. (Right now, I'm pretending to still be unconscious, but from what I can tell based on the map on my phone, we're right in front of the restaurant Al's dinner date is located.)

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 **[Comments (2)] [Show comments]**

* * *

 **Berwald Oxenstierna: IKEA**

Perhaps their couch was purchased from our catalog of a wide variety of convenient furniture to choose from.

Berwald Oxenstierna 2016-02-21

 **Elizabeta Hedervary: Oh look, Gilbert, it appears that you're awake.**

While I've got you distracted by having you read this, I'm going to forcefully yank you out of your seat and fill you in on the details. ^w^ Yeah, like totally right now.

Berwald Oxenstierna:

Why yes, yes it was.

Elizabeta Hedervary 2016-02-21

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 **Sha** **-la-la-la-la-la kiss the guy! (Or not, if you're going to be lame like Alfred.)**

 **2016 February 21 (Sunday)**

* * *

Even though I decided at the last minute not to observe Alfred's dinner date, Elizabeta had other ideas. Which is why I wound up staring into the window of a restaurant from a bright pink van with a pair of oversized binoculars.

Oh, and you know how I kind of sort of said I blacked out for a "few minutes" in my previous post? Yeah . . . scratch that too. Apparently, it was more like a "few hours", so now when I'm typing this up, it's almost midnight.

Anyway, since I was out for so long, I only started watching toward the end of the date, when Alfred and Matthew called for the check and left the restaurant. Elizabeta gestured for us to crouch down so that they wouldn't see us (yeah, Liz, because they totally won't notice a random _hot pink van just sitting in front of the freaking restaurant_ ), but stopped abruptly to say, "Wait, Matthew's phone is ringing."

So Roderich, Random Techie Kid, Elizabeta's van guy and I peek out the window. Sure enough, Matthew's looking at his phone in surprise. He glanced between Alfred and the phone hesitantly, and Elizabeta used this time to wave her hand quickly at Random Techie Kid. "Kiku, the audio!"

"Hai," Random Techie Ki— _Kiku_ nodded, pressing a few buttons before turning up a dial.

Right on time, Matthew accepted the call and raised the phone to his ear. From the speakers, we can hear the voice on the other end of the line. "Matilda—"

"Matthew."

"—breaking news at the bridge! No time to explain, we're tracking this call now to drive to your location and pick you up. We'll tell you more on the way, but until then, don't go anywhere! We're almost there. See you soon!"

"But—"

Dial tone.

Matthew sighed, turning off his phone. Seeing that we wouldn't be able to hear what was going on anymore via the device, Kiku turned down the dial and gave a disappointed sigh of his own. Meanwhile, Matthew faced Alfred again and they exchanged several words, which, of course, we couldn't hear.

"Dammit, I should've learned how to lip-read . . ." Elizabeta muttered.

"We totally should've planted microphones over there!" the driver exclaimed. "Like, pink ones."

"Maybe next time, then," Roderich said consolingly. Or as consolingly as Roderich can get.

"'Next time'?" Elizabeta whirled around, repeating the words excitedly.

"They're part of my obligations as your fiancé, after all," Roderich offered as an explanation. Which was a lame one, since we all know that's not true!

And, of course, I felt the need to assert that out loud too, just in case. "For the last time, I _KNOW_ it's a prank, guys!"

I swear I saw Liz start to reach for her frying pan for totally no reason at all just then.

"Perhaps," Kiku intervened, "but maybe we should focus on watching the couple in front of the restaurant at the moment."

"Kiku's got a point! Like, you've totally got to look. I think something's happening!"

The driver was right.

Alfred and Matthew had stopped talking and were staring into each other's eyes. Matthew fiddled with his phone, but neither of them broke eye contact. He said a few more quiet words and Alfred inclined his head slightly in agreement. They were subtly closing the distance between each other. They were about a foot away from each other now, face-to-face. Alfred smiled slightly. Alfred—

Alfred raised his hand in a little wave, said some words that looked suspiciously like they were supposed to be some sort of farewell, nodded, and walked along as happy and oblivious as ever.

In the van, we facepalmed in awesome unison.

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 **[Comments (2)] [Show comments]**

* * *

 **Carlos Machado: That Alfred!**

But shouldn't you be worried he's reading this?

Carlos Machado 2016-02-21

 **Gilbert Beilschmidt: Nah, it's totally fine! (Well, not Alfred missing out on sucking face.)**

After finding out that I not only knew the time and place of his date but all the back-up times and places of his date in case I discovered his plans, Alfred decided that the less he knows about what the awesome me knows, the better.

Gilbert Beilschmidt 2016-02-21

* * *

 **Notes on this Chapter:**

 **Alfred, Alfred, Alfred.**

 **And don't worry! Since Gilbert missed a lot of whatever dialogue between Alfred and Matthew, there will be Alfred's version of the events, too, probably . . . okay, so maybe SOME worrying. *sweatdrops* Heh, heh.**

 **Oh, and I think I mentioned before that Gilbert's blog would be in "real time". Well, that has changed slightly, but not too much: the posts will be up-to-date, as in each chapter will contain his posts dating in the interval from where we left off in the previous chapter up to the current date. For instance, this chapter contains posts dating from both yesterday and today. ^J^**

 **Feedback is greatly appreciated!**


	7. Not-Too-Punny Intervention Preparations

**A/N: Not going to lie: I am WAAAYY behind schedule for what I planned to have happened in this fic by now, and by that I mean this chapter pretty much only covers Monday. I hope to spend this weekend catching up, so you might see more updates following this one over the weekend. ^J^ Alfred's date isn't really in this chapter, but don't worry, you'll be hearing more about it eventually!**

 **In response to reviewer fishstick1999, what's to be sorry for? *digital high five***

 **Oh, and we hit ten followers. I'm going to go find somewhere to spazz out in glee while you read this chapter. ^J^**

 **Disclaimer: I own neither Hetalia: Axis Powers nor How I Met Your Mother.**

* * *

 **How To: Deal With Delicate Matters.**

 **2016 February 22 (Monday)**

* * *

"It's a very delicate matter," Roderich was saying quickly and quietly. We were at our usual table at the bar, though Elizabeta seemed to be running late. Alfred had been sent to get drinks; I would have gone with him, but Roderich made me stay behind so that he could go over the plan, "so what we should do is approach it with great cautio—"

And then Elizabeta ran in, late. And smiling. And carrying a lot of merchandise.

Plopping them each onto the table as she went through the list, Elizabeta announced, "I made an 'INTERVENTION' banner, an 'INTERVENTION' bullhorn, an 'INTERVENTION' foghorn—because, you know, you can never know for sure—an 'INTERVENTION' tablecloth, an 'INTERVENTION' random-fabric-cloth, an 'INTERVENTION' t-shirt, an 'INTERVENTION' letterman jacket, an 'INTERVENTION'—"

Roderich, who had been attentively monitoring Alfred's progress at the bar, suddenly snatched the "INTERVENTION" veil Elizabeta had been about to unveil and stuffed it under his shirt, exclaiming, "Quick, Carlos almost has the drinks ready!"

He swept everything else underneath the table and Elizabeta hastily seated herself so that the merchandise was hidden behind her long skirt. I pouted.

"But I wanted that letterman jacket . . ."

"Oh, I'm sorry you lost it within sixty seconds of meeting it—like just about anything else you ever hit on (Totally not true, by the way! Liz probably just felt like being lame)—but you'll get it back later—unlike anything else you've ever hit on (Also not true! They _alwaayys_ come back for more of this awesomeness!)," said Elizabeta sympathetically. As soon as Alfred turned around with the drinks in hand, she kicked me and demanded, "Now shut up and act natural!"

"You didn't have to make it violent!" I protested, leaning down to rub my wounded shin.

"It's for emphasis."

"Then emphasis is almost as lame as you are right now."

My last thought before I blacked out that time was "Who the heck fits an 'INTERVENTION' frying pan in their purse?"

Now excuse me as I find out why I feel like there's something thin and moist across my face. And why this inky stuff comes off when I touch it.

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 **[Comments (4)] [Show comments]**

* * *

 **Elizabeta Hedervary: Perhaps a mirror would be of help?**

Because, you know, mirrors. ^w^

Elizabeta Hedervary 2016-02-22

 **Gilbert Beilschmidt: What the heck is wrong with you?**

Like, who draws WINE propaganda on their BEST FRIEND's forehead? That's both totally unawesome and totally unprecedented! (You're SUPPOSED to prefer BEER.)

Gilbert Beilschmidt 2016-02-22

 **Elizabeta Hedervary: "BEST FRIEND's forehead"?**

Suuure, you keep telling yourself that.

Elizabeta Hedervary 2016-02-22

 **Gilbert Beilschmidt: Ja, I will!**

And not because you told me to—I will because it's totally true! HA!

Gilbert Beilschmidt 2016-02-22

* * *

 **Preparing for the** **Matthewvention! Intermatthew. Screw wittiness! Unawesome lack of puns . . .**

 **2016 February 22 (Monday)**

* * *

After I regained consciousness this afternoon, updated my blog, and then totally didn't alert Elizabeta and Roderich of my wakefulness by screaming super loudly after seeing the horrifying wine propaganda that was drawn on my face (because none of that wine-drawing-stuff totally ever happened at all and that part of my totally-not-an-actual-memory was clearly just some awful nightmare because my best friends would totally never betray me and completely shatter my respect for them in such a devastating manner), the two of them armed me with an "INTERVENTION" banner, an "INTERVENTION" tablecloth, and a roll of tape and sent me to prepare their living room for Alfred's intervention. Elizabeta was off baking an "INTERVENTION" cake in the kitchen (you know, we should really give her an "INTERVENTION" intervention . . . hmm . . .), but Roderich? Well . . .

"Do you _have_ to play that lame classical music while we're busy here?" I groaned as the banner fell for the umpteenth time before I could tape up the other end. Glaring at it on the floor, I added, "And it would totally be helpful if you could hold up one end while I tape the other instead of you watching me fail a billion times."

"But it's only happened about fifteen times now," said Roderich, not pausing in his piano-playing. Gilbird, who was seated comfortably on the instrument, glanced at me lazily.

"Yeah, thanks a lot for pointing that out," I huffed, gathering the poster off the ground with a snort. "Real helpful, Roddy. _Reeaall_ helpful."

I paused to stare at Gilbird, whose gaze was starting to look kind of sort of _all kinds of_ condescending. "Hey, what're you looking at?"

Gilbird obligingly looked away.

"Besides," Roderich continued, "it's a fast-paced overture that's supposed to motivate you to work on the room faster with its quick tempo."

"Ja, ja, but wouldn't it go faster if, I don't know, you actually _helped_ me with some of it?"

This time, he did pause to throw me a withering look.

" _Do NOT question the classical music, Gilbert_."

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 **[Comments (1)] [Show comments]**

* * *

 **Carlos Machado: I seriously wonder about you guys sometimes!**

But yo! Roderich! You haavve to play that overture for me sometime!

Carlos Machado 2016-02-22

* * *

 **Popping** **the question!**

 **2016 February 22 (Monday)**

* * *

"Elizabeta?" I asked. I had joined her in the kitchen after somehow managing to secure the banner using the power of my own awesomeness; in contrast, Roderich was still playing that "fast-paced overture that's supposed to motivate you to work" on the piano.

Elizabeta didn't look up from where she was carefully frosting "INTERVENTION" onto the cake, but responded, "Yes?"

"We've totally known each other for a long time . . . and there's this question that's been on my mind for a while that I wanted to ask you, but I wasn't sure if it would've been appropriate to do so in front of Roderich because I don't know how he'd respond (being totally lame and all) . . . so, if you'll let the awesome me do so . . . can I ask it now?"

"Well, you're acting remarkably OOC," she commented, finishing frosting the "I" in "INTERVENTION". Yes, the _first_ "I". Shrugging, she sighed, "Ah, go ahead then."

"Elizabeta, will you please make me the happiest guy in the world . . . and tell me why you're going totally overboard with this intervention? It's totally starting to freak me out. I mean, I know you're just trying to be a good friend to Alfred, which is awesome and all, but—"

"I'm doing this in the name of yaoi, Gilbert."

"Oh."

Well. That explains a lot.

* * *

 **Notes on this Chapter:**

 **"INTERVENTION"s, am I right? ^J^**

 **Also, I was thinking of drawing something worse on Gilbert's forehead *cough* _likeyaoi_ *cough*, but I think wine propaganda would already be more than enough punishment for him since he's such an avid supporter of beer. Note: you probably shouldn't drink too much (or any, if you want to practice abstinence) alcohol either way. Careful around that stuff.**

 **Oh, and Gilbird made a reappearance! *cheers* And yeah, Elizabeta's kind of sort of taking charge on this whole "INTERVENTION" thing. ^J^**


	8. INTERVENTION

**A/N: Stiill catching up with Gilbert's going-ons! (Goings-on? Goings-ons? Ah, let's just get to the chapter already!)**

 **Disclaimer: I own neither Hetalia: Axis Powers nor How I Met Your Mother.**

* * *

 **For Alfred's own good, probably!**

 **2016 February 23 (Tuesday)**

* * *

When Alfred opened the apartment door this morning (he'd spent the night out, so we'd had enough time to set up everything, finish a cake—as in finish _EATING_ it—and then bake another one when Elizabeta found out and kind of sort of got super enraged), we were already inside standing under the banner. He looked inside the room. He looked at us. He look up toward the banner. He looked down back at us. He gave in and ambled over to the couch (that super-comfy couch of theirs? Ja, that one) and, stretching nonchalantly, asked, "So, what is it this time?"

"It's Matthew," we said in unison (with varying levels of deadpan).

"But dude, things are going so well!" Alfred insisted, straightening in his seat. "I mean, we're really getting to know each other and I thought we really clicked, y'know?"

At this, Elizabeta launched forward and yanked him up by the collar of his shirt.

" _THEN FREAKING. MAKE. OUT. WITH HIM. ALREADY_."

"W-what?" Alfred sputtered, prying his shirt out of Elizabeta's fist and taking a step back. He held his hands up in defense. "Whoa, dude, slow your roll! I thought Matt and I were just friends!"

I snorted. "Al, no one is 'just friends' unless there is absolutely no chance of them sucking face with each other in the next twenty minutes. As for you and 'Matt', you were literally about to make out before you unawesomely gone and went all bye-bye on him!"

Alfred blinked in perplexity. "We were about to . . . ?"

He broke off to shake his head and, staring at us in bewilderment, asked, "Wait, you guys were _watching_?"

"What do you _think_?" Elizabeta groaned expasperatedly. "My gaydar reading was off the charts and yet you couldn't. Just. Kiss. Him!"

"Again, I'm pretty sure we're purely platonic, bro!" Alfred protested. He sat back down on the couch and crossed his arms. "And even if you're right, he didn't give me the signal!"

Elizabeta's hands clenched and unclenched like she wanted to strangle him. Or was wishing for her "INTERVENTION" frying pan. "THAT _WAS_ THE SIGNAL."

"And even if it wasn't," I continued for Liz while she seethed, "you don't have to wait for a signal to make out with somebody."

Alfred raised his eyebrows. "Oh really?"

"Ja!" I affirmed. When he still didn't look like he believed me, I rolled my eyes. Then my eyes landed on Roderich.

So, you know, I did what anyone else who wants to win an argument does. They prove their point.

So, you know, I kind of sort of kissed Roderich. And Liz kind of sort of had a nosebleed into a pillow and took pictures. (Seriously, how did she get her phone out so fast? It was only going on for, like, two seconds.)

" _See_?" I asked, plopping back down next to Alfred on the couch when I was done and unceremoniously (but awesomely, of course) plucking a tissue to wipe away some saliva on my mouth. "No signal!"

His mouth opening and closing, Roderich turned to Elizabeta and immediately apologized, "I'm _so sorry_ you had to see that, it didn't mean anything I'm telling y—"

"Yeah, yeah," Elizabeta waved him off, pulling tissues from the same box I'd taken mine from to dab at her nosebleed. "Now could you two do it again for, like, the next hour, except in front of a video camera?"

"If it's turned off," Roderich deadpanned.

"Dammit."

"You and Roderich? Platonic," said Alfred, gesturing between us. "Let's say I try what you just pulled on Matthew and the same thing happens, except there's no yaoi enthusiast in our midst. What then?"

"There's _always_ a yaoi enthusiast," Elizabeta stated. I'm not sure how I feel about that conspiratorial look that went into her eyes when she said that, but, y'know, it's Liz.

Ignoring her comment, I shrugged, "Hey, it might not work out, but at least I can go to mein awesome bed now knowing that me and him?"

I waved at the space between Roderich and I like Alfred did earlier. "Not going to happen."

Alfred seemed to consider this for a moment, then stood and nodded resolutely, "Alright, dude. Whatever you say."

"Wait, where are you going?" Roderich called as Alfred opened the apartment door.

Pausing in the doorway, Alfred turned around and smiled, "There's something I have to do."

With that, he continued walking out, closing the door behind him. Back in the apartment, Roderich sighed. "That . . . didn't really answer my question."

Elizabeta, meanwhile, ran over to the window and shoved it open. She stuck her head out and shouted, " _MAKE ME PROUD, ALFRED. REMEMBER, YAOI FOR THE WIN_!"

" _You are NOT following me there, Elizabeta_!"

She lingered around a little longer before closing the window. "Dammit."

* * *

 **[Comments (1)] [Show comments]**

* * *

 **Carlos Machado: So you CAN have your ca** **ke and eat it, too!**

Well, your "INTERVENTION" cake at least!

Carlos Machado 2016-02-27

* * *

 **Alfred's** **back, BUT . . .**

 **2016 February 23 (Tuesday)**

The three of us stayed in the apartment cleaning up the "INTERVENTION" decorations until Alfred returned in the afternoon. He greeted us when he came in, but headed to his room before we could ask about how things went. Lame-o. Though he seemed kind of . . . sulky.

Don't worry! I'm still going to make him write a blog post about it tomorrow. Y'know, because I'm awesome like that, kesesese!

* * *

 **Notes on this Chapter:**

 **Gilbert's not insensitive. Just completely and utterly oblivious. *cough*Alfredimsosorry*cough***


	9. Could Have Sworn It was Locked

**A/N: I am seriously behind on updates *cough* _almost-tw_ _o-weeks'-worth-of-Gilbert_ *cough* but I'm working on it I swear!**

 **Disclaimer: I own neither Hetalia: Axis Powers nor How I Met Your Mother.**

* * *

 **Scratch that!**

 **2016 February 24 (Wednesday)**

* * *

He refused. I insisted. Alfred still refused to type the blog post. I threatened to go into his room. He scoffed that it was locked. I opened it. It opened. He could have sworn it was locked. I told him it was no match for my awesomeness. He threw a pillow at me. I threatened to blackmail him. He scoffed. I said I wasn't kidding. He rolled over in his bed and said yeah, whatever. Close the light when I leave. I left. I closed the light. I closed the door. I opened my blog to write another post.

So. It seems like you won't be receiving a post from Alfred today after all. I know you aren't reading this, but seriously, totally unawesome of you, Al. Like, _laaamme_. Mark my words, my awesome readers, I will get him to spill by the end of the next month! No, two weeks! But until then . . .

. . . Again, lame-o!

* * *

 **[Comments (2)] [Show comments]**

* * *

 **Roderich Edelstein: Wait, how did you get in the apartment in the first place?**

I could have sworn the front door was locked . . . ?

Roderich Edelstein 2016-02-24

 **Elizabeta Hedervary: If you've TRAUMATIZED him in ANY WAY—! ! !**

Well, let's just say there will be worse things in your future than being short one blog post from our dear Alfred. ^w^ You know the drill.

But . . . if you do succeed in dragging the truth out of him, I want to be the first to hear about it.

Elizabeta Hedervary 2016-02-24

* * *

 **Watch** **your words, Al!**

 **2016 February 25 (Thursday)**

* * *

As I'm typing this up, we're in the hospital's waiting room again. This time, Black Eye Guy isn't here, but that doesn't make it any less uncomfortable because I have another freaking BLACK. _EYE_. And it's all Al's fault. (Yeah, I can see you reading this over my shoulder! Oh, don't even try looking away pretending like you don't know I know you kn—Hey, I'm being called. Doctor Braginski must have less visitors today.)

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 **[Comments (5)] [Show comments]**

* * *

 **Gilbert Beilschmidt: It's not my fault Elizabeta beat you up, dude!**

How was I supposed to know she was going to hunt you down if I CASUALLY answered "Yeah, like usual." when Elizabeta said "So, I heard Gilbert stopped by this morning. Was it anything . . . traumatic?" I mean, she was pouring out cereal with this totally innocent smile while she was doing it so again how was I supposed to know, dude? Gil, cut me some slack here!

Gilbert Beilschmidt 2016-02-25

 **Carlos Machado: Yo! Alfred, I haven't seen you in a while!**

Nice hearing from you! But why're you on Gilbert's account?

Carlos Machado 2016-02-25

 **Gilbert Beilschmidt: He totally left his phone here!**

I don't think he noticed, though . . . I should probably put this away now and pretend like I wasn't reading through his blog.

Gilbert Beilschmidt 2016-02-25

 **Elizabeta Hedervary: His blog? How much did you read?**

Did you find anything of interest?

Elizabeta Hedervary 2016-02-25

 **Gilbert Beilschmidt: Nah, not much actually!**

Just this post, but that's because I already read it over his shoulder like he said . . . guy's more observant than he looks!

Plus, don't you receive notifications or something for his blog? You've probably read all of these posts, like, the millisecond they came out! If there's anything interesting here, you probably already know dude.

Gilbert Beilschmidt 2016-02-25

* * *

 **Taxi** **drivers can be super thoughtful! And, y'know, just happen to get filled in on everything about your past month by your best friend.**

 **2016 February 25 (Thursday)**

* * *

"Y'know," Alfred said as we plopping down inside the taxi, "this is your third black eye and the month isn't even over yet."

"It's _almost_ over," I reminded him. I could've sworn I saw Gilbird roll his eyes at me as I gave the address of the apartment to the driver.

Gilbird had been awake when Elizabeta appeared at the doorstep of my awesome apartment earlier this morning, greeted me by giving me a not-so-awesome black eye, and then left just as abruptly. I remember because I could've sworn I saw him yawn and preen himself (are wingmen supposed to "preen"?) and look the other way when Elizabeta totally punched me in the face. Even so, I hadn't felt like leaving him in the apartment alone so I'd taken him with me to the hospital.

Alfred shrugged as we pulled away from the hospital, "Yeah, but not yet."

I scoffed. "What, am I supposed to get another black eye in, like, the next four days?"

Alfred didn't respond. I blinked at the sudden realization.

"Oh crap you actually expect me to get another black eye in like the next four days."

"Yeah, pretty much," Alfred exhaled. Gilbird nonchalantly hopped onto Alfred's shoulder.

"Mr. Beilschmidt, if you'll excuse me for asking, why _have_ you had so many black eyes?"

Alfred and I looked up in surprise to see the taxi driver watching us through the rearview mirror with a pair of large, curious green eyes. He looked familiar, as if I'd seen him before somewhere else, but I couldn't really place it. I opened my mouth to answer his question, but Al beat me to it.

Counting off his fingers as he went, he said, "Well, he got the first one on Valentine's Day when he tried setting me up with this guy at the bar but the guy pretty much went 'nope', turned down the free beer we gave him, and punched Gil here in the face. The second one happened I think, like, less than a week from then, dude, when Gilbert was trying to escape the apartment—"

"'Escape'?" the driver repeated, sounding a bit bewildered as we turned only to find a "DETOUR" sign in our way with an arrow pointing toward the side. He sighed softly and obligingly started driving along the detour. "Sorry for interrupting, but I'm wondering what you mean by 'trying to escape the apartment'."

"Oh, yeah, I forgot to tell you about that," said Alfred, straightening in his seat as he explained, "We agreed to lock him in the apartment for his own good to keep him out of the bar since he got a cast and we didn't want him to get further hurt by rejection. Elizabeta agreed—well, offered—to drag him back if he tried to leave."

"Physically hurt or emotionally hurt?" asked the driver.

"Both," Alfred totally (and utterly unawesomely) _grinned_. Have I already mentioned how my friends are unawesome sadists that feed off the misery of certain awesome others such as yours truly (and awesomely)?

"I don't get rejected!" I insisted (because that's totally the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, totally!).

"But why would he have a cast for his black eye?" the driver asked thoughtfully.

"Oh, I guess I forgot to mention the cast was for his hand. His fingers got kind of squiggly-looking after Elizabeta was through with him, but he's okay now."

"The same Elizabeta who was on watch duty to keep him from leaving the apartment?"

"That's the one," Alfred nodded. "But Gilbert snuck off into the bar several times anyway."

"So . . . was this Elizabeta the one to give him the second black eye?"

"Nope!" said Alfred, sounding way cheerier than he should've considering the fact that I'm totally his best friend, "Apparently the girl Gil was hitting on was the sister of the guy who gave him the first black eye."

"So, that guy gave him the second one as well?"

"Exactly!" Alfred said enthusiastically. Sighing with satisfaction, he leaned back against his seat and smiled. " _Claaassic_ Black Eye Guy. Oh! But Elizabeta gave him the one he has right now."

"Really?" said the taxi driver. "Wow, Mr. Beilschmidt, how accident-prone are you?"

"I don't think I'd call them 'accidents'," Alfred advised. Stupid knowing grin of his.

"Well, what could the story behind this one possibly be?" the driver wondered, obviously referencing my current black eye.

Gilbird shifted on Alfred's shoulder so that we were now all staring at him expectantly. Well, semi-staring—the taxi driver had to also watch the road as he followed the other "DETOUR" signs back to the main road.

"You'll . . . just have to fill that one in for yourself for now," Alfred finally replied. Disappointed, Gilbird and I mentally groaned in unison (because we're awesome like that).

"Ah, if you say so," the driver inclined his head slightly in acceptance. As he took another turn, he added, "It seems like the two of you have had a very exciting month indeed. If you'll allow it, there's one more thing that I would very much like to hear more about, Mr. Beilschmidt."

"Ja, ja, go right ahead," I waved flippantly, already bracing myself for some other reference to my "accident-prone"-ness.

"Why do you have a bird? Is it yours?"

It took me a moment to realize who he was talking about.

"Oh, you mean Gilbird!" I exclaimed. Said Gilbird obligingly hopped off Alfred's shoulder and somehow managed to nest in my hair. "Ja, he's my wingman. I think he's always been a part of the awesome me, actually, but I only noticed him when I looked up and found him flying around my head. We've been together for so long that I still barely notice when he's there over half the time, though. Crazy, right?"

I expected the taxi driver to agree immediately, but instead he seemed to be thinking over what I had just said with a lot of careful consideration. After a brief pause he nodded. "Yes, I suppose so. Never noticed him until you realized he'd been there all along, you say . . . it must be nice, having such a loyal and steadfast companion, hmm? I would like to think that you could count on Gilbird to always be there for you regardless of everything else that might be going on around you, even if you might not be aware of his presence."

"Ja, that's Gilbird for you."

The rest of the ride was mostly casual conversation about other things between the driver and the awesome me, with Alfred only speaking up to make an occasional remark about the topic we were on. Most of the time he just sat there being uncharacteristically quiet, but he's probably still going through some sulking.

Gilbird is still on my head, I think, since I felt some weight up there start to slide a bit when I leaned forward to post this update to my blog. I had to straighten just now to keep him from falling off.

He must've fallen asleep sometime during the ride. Funny how that works—I hadn't noticed how he'd never left my hair.

* * *

 **[Comments (2)] [Show comments]**

* * *

 **Elizabeta Hedervary: "Mr. Beilschmidt"? Ha!**

That sounds waayy too mature to be the same person as you, Gilbert. I do wonder how he knows your name, though . . .

Elizabeta Hedervary 2016-02-25

 **Gilbert Beilschmidt: I AM mature! And awesome! !**

But dammit, that's a good point.

Gilbert Beilschmidt 2016-02-25

* * *

 **Notes on this Chapter:**

 **There's some stuff in this chapter that could vaguely count as wordplay. But, y'know, vaguely. ^J^ And who, I wonder, is this oh-so-mysterious taxi driver?**


	10. Controversial Topics

**A/N: YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED (by the title of this chapter)! ! ^J^**

 **I'm still behind, but the next chapter will probably be covering a lot of posts, so . . . yeah. *sweatdrops***

 **Disclaimer: I own neither Hetalia: Axis Powers nor How I Met Your Mother.**

* * *

 **Elizabeta really has to find a more obvious way to tell me about her meetings.**

 **2016 February 26 (Friday)**

* * *

So I was just awesomely lounging on the couch in Roderich, Elizabeta, and Alfred's apartment (because, y'know, it's awesome enough to support this level of awesomeness) when Techie Kid—er, Kiku—randomly walks into the apartment, closes the door behind him, and looks at me like I'm the craziest thing he's ever seen (which is obviously totally unprecedented because he's totally the one that casually broke into the apartment and it doesn't get more unprecedented than that) and, shifting his gaze a little bit to the side, comments, "You know, your bird would look very cute in a hat."

". . . Thanks?"

"You're very welcome," he nodded sagely. Turning so that he was looking at me inquisitively, he asks, "Aren't you coming to the meeting?"

When I stared back at him blankly, he explained that Elizabeta apparently organized another meeting about Alfred that's supposed to be taking place upstairs.

"But . . . that's the roof."

"Precisely."

So now I'm following him up to the roof where Elizabeta has probably already dragged Roderich (I was wondering why there wasn't any classical background music going on during my awesome lounging!) and however-many-other-people. Including Carlos, apparently, though he's looking through his phone or something right now. Speaking of which, I should probably put mine away before Elizabeta sees . . .

* * *

 **[Comments (1)] [Show comments]**

* * *

 **Carlos Machado: Good idea! The hat thing and the phone thing!**

. . . I'm going to go ahead and pocket this now.

Carlos Machado 2016-02-26

* * *

 **No** **Title**

 **2016 February 26 (Friday)**

* * *

Elizabeta asked if Carlos had seen Alfred at the bar recently. Carlos shook his head in a negative. Elizabeta followed that up immediately by declaring we should resume our tracking of Alfred and keep close tabs on him to make sure he was doing okay. Elizabeta's van guy seconded the movement, but suggested that we use ponies instead of a van. Roderich liked how old-time-y the horses would look because he's stuffy like that. Kiku wondered if it would be too conspicuous. Elizabeta paused to consider this. Elizabeta's van guy, seeing her indecision, immediately proceeded to rattle off a list of the benefits of involving ponies. With lots of pink.

Roderich, hearing of the hot pink carriage Elizabeta's van guy planned to have the ponies at the head of, immediately backpedaled upon realizing that it wouldn't be as stuffy and old-time-y as he had originally thought. Elizabeta's van guy instantly whirled around and directed his list of pros at that guy, counting them off his fingers as he went. Carlos tried to calm down Elizabeta's van guy, since he appeared to be invading much of Roderich's personal space. Elizabeta was standing off to the side, still deep some introspective world on the matter of using a bright pink van or bright pink ponies. Kiku tried to catch her attention so she could rein in her van guy, who was now pointedly jabbing at Roderich's chest for emphasis (". . . Like, and don't even get me started about Global Warming . . ."). Carlos and Kiku were both failing miserably, needless to say.

And it escalated.

"Yes, but does it really have to be _hot pink_?"

" _Yes_! And don't worry, there will totally be cushions there, too."

"Also pink?"

". . . I can't believe I didn't think of that! Like, totally!"

Roderich took a moment to facepalm before realizing that Elizabeta's van guy was already diving into more and more details about the carriage and joined Carlos in trying to get a word in.

And it escalated.

"Elizabeta-san, perhaps it's time to intervene with your friend . . ."

". . . but which one is less noticeable . . . ?" Elizabeta muttered to herself contemplatively.

"Neither, if they're both hot pink," I remarked, more than a little irked at the one-sidedness of these exchanges.

" _And we can totally make it GLITTERY_!" Elizabeta's van guy exclaimed in the background.

Until finally, I couldn't take it anymore.

" _OH JUST QUIT MAKING YOUR PLANS FOR FIVE MINUTES_!"

They instantly went silent, and I could've sworn that I heard the traffic honks from below stop for a few seconds, too. But then it started up again because, y'know, anger management.

Sucking in a deep breath, I continued, "It's Alfred's love life and if things didn't work out with Matthew then that's totally up to him to figure out and we shouldn't pressure him into it if he's clearly not ready to talk right now. Friends are supposed to be there to be supportive, so what kind of unawesome friends would we be if we forced him to do something that he's obviously not prepared to at this point in time?"

There was a pause. Then Elizabeta spoke.

"But friends are supposed to push you because they want the best for you. How can we help him achieve that if he refuses to help himself?"

There was another pause. I stared at her. They stared at me. Then I quietly turned and made my way back down into the apartment.

* * *

 **Anyone** **know anything about birds and mullets? Ja? Nein? Alright, I tried, Liz!**

 **2016 February 27 (Saturday)**

* * *

Elizabeta agreed to lay off a bit on the whole stalking-Alfred's-every-move thing. For now, at least. Her awesomeness has accordingly increased ever-so-slightly in my book. She also asked me if I knew anything about Kiku and "birds and mullets". Totally weird stuff! I wonder about that woman sometimes.

* * *

 **[Comments (5)] [Show comments]**

* * *

 **Elizabeta Hedervary: Quit zoning out when I talk!**

"Birds in SMALL HATS", Gilbert! Small HATS.

Elizabeta Hedervary 2016-02-27

 **Gilbert Beilschmidt: Ja, ja!**

That DOES sound familiar, but the awesome me can't quite place it at the moment . . . oh well.

Gilbert Beilschmidt 2016-02-27

 **Elizabeta Hedervary: You just skimmed through my previous comment, didn't you?**

I swear you get lazier by the day. And never mind, I found it out myself in your previous post! (That and I managed to wring it out of a certain primary source.) You should expect a visit from a certain techie within the next twenty-four hours. ^w^

Elizabeta Hedervary 2016-02-27

 **Gilbert Beilschmidt: You're right, skim milk is totally a cow product!**

But please don't talk about laissez-faire here on this blog. I'm not supposed to take sides in certain controversial topics here, which includes cats vs dogs, anything involving use of the words "male" and/or "female", cake vs pie, evolution, and pop music, to name a few for future reference! Thanks for understanding!

Gilbert Beilschmidt 2016-02-27

 **Elizabeta Hedervary: *facepalms***

LAZIER! And you bash classical music all the time! How's that NOT taking a side? ?

Elizabeta Hedervary 2016-02-27

* * *

 **Notes on this Chapter:**

 **I apologize for Gilbert's random sudden changes in mood between posts. ^J^ (Maybe it's the GLITTER!)**


	11. The Seven Stages of Suppression: Part 1

**A/N: SORRY FOR TAKING SO LONG /cries And what's even sadder is that I still didn't entirely finish it so I broke it into two parts but I reeeaally wanted to post at least something for you guys, so . . .**

 **Also, I wanted this chapter to be super sad and reflective-sounding, like I'm not even kidding but apparently I suck at "super sad and reflective-sounding" so . . . here you go. ^J^**

 **Disclaimer: I own neither Hetalia: Axis Powers nor IKEA.**

* * *

 **Kiku stopped by today!**

 **2016 February 28 (Sunday)**

* * *

"How is it so . . . ?"

"Small?"

"Ja! Exactly! I mean, it's awesome and all, but did you do it on purpose?"

"Hai."

"Will it even fit at that size?"

"Hai."

"You want to do the honors?"

"Hai."

"Okay, so now we've got that awesome plan sorted out, we can go right ahead. By the way, this would totally be a good time for you to stop saying 'hai'."

"Ha—Whatever you want," Kiku caught himself midway through his reply.

We were sitting alone in the apartment (well, there was Alfred, but only because he'd enclosed himself back in his room again so he doesn't really count) just two days after Elizabeta's rooftop meeting. I hadn't been expecting to see him without Elizabeta having anything to do with it, especially when he had this super-tiny hat thing-y propped on his thumb. Apparently, when he mentioned putting Gilbird into a hat (like what, two days ago?), he'd been serious about it. And he was right.

I don't know how the heck he came up with it, but Gilbird looks sooo cute in a hat. Thanks, Kiku!

* * *

 **[Comments (1)] [Show comments]**

* * *

 **Elizabeta Hedervary: I SAW THAT HAT! ! Nice job, Kiku!**

DAMMIT GILBERT I HAD A PERFECTLY HEALTHY NOSEBLEED GOING ON AND THEN YOU HAD TO GO AND RUIN IT WHAT THE HECK IS WRONG WITH YOU. ;w;

On another sad note, I think that's the most sincere thank-you I've ever heard from you. Read from you. Witnessed from you in any way ever. Whatever. I shall proceed to insert a kawaii face in order to cover up my lingering disappointment. ^w^

Elizabeta Hedervary 2016-02-28

* * *

 **Guys** **, it's Leap Day! Oh, and I also totally bumped into Alfred while looking at cute hats!**

 **2016 February 29 (Monday)**

* * *

It's totally Kiku's fault that I'm now obsessed with finding hats for Gilbird. And it's because of my obsession with finding cute little hats for my cute little wingman that I bumped into my not-so-little wingman at the pet shop.

"Hey, Alfred!" I called out, startling him into nearly dropping the chew toy he had been examining.

I had noticed him standing alone in an aisle of various dog toys and costumes when I walked in, but he seemed to be studying everything with such intense scrutiny (no, seriously, I expected all the dog toys he picked up to, like, spontaneously combust or something when he stared at them like that) that at first I thought there was no way he was Al.

But less than an hour later, after running around searching for cute bird outfits just about everywhere else in the store, I'd glanced at him from so many aisles that I realized there was no way he _wasn't_ Al. Still, I didn't join him until I'd already checked every other aisle—from hamsters to fish to these random doves or something (I swear I saw one _wink_ at me)—and found nothing even close to a pet costume. For some reason, only the dog aisle seemed to have any sort of pet costume available, even though now that I think about it, I could probably lose Gilbird inside one of those huge doggie hats since they're so much bigger than him and all so it's probably a good idea that I hadn't bought any even afterward. . . but that's the beside the point.

Wait, what was I talking about? Oh, right, I still haven't told you Al's response. Oops.

"Gilbert!" he exclaimed, quickly tossing the chew toy back onto the shelf. "What're you doing here, dude?"

I mean yeah, tiny hats on Gilbird are adorable, but if I did cosplay that would already totally put a dent in my awesomeness levels—imagine the blow to my awesomeness if I admitted I had my _bird_ cosplay.

"Buying . . . uh . . ." I scrambled to one of the shelves and grabbed the first thing I laid my hands on. I raised it up and grinned innocently. "This."

Alfred raised his eyebrows, looking at said first-thing-I-laid-my-hands-on dubiously. "Uh, that's a leash . . ."

"It's for a . . . kink . . . of Roderich's . . . and Elizabeta's?"

Alfred blinked.

". . . I'm going to try to forget that I ever heard that."

I took this as my cue to change the subject. "So, why're you in the dog section? Since, y'know, they don't allow dogs in the apartment building and all."

I thought I saw Alfred deflate a bit, but I must have imagined it since the next moment he was as cheery as ever.

"Oh, this is the dog section? Oops, I was totally looking for, like, bird food, dude! You probably know all about bird stuff though, right bro?" while he was chattering away, Al had slung his arm around my shoulder and was already leading me into the bird aisle. "C'mon, you can help me pick some out and then we can go through checkout together!"

Dammit.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go back to the pet store to return a dog leash.

* * *

 **[Comments (2)] [Show comments]**

* * *

 **Roderich Edelstein: "A KINK OF RODERICH'S AND ELIZABETA'S"?**

Gilbert, I am SO MAD at you, you ABSOLUTELY INFURIATING LITTLE—

That was SO UNPRECEDENTED—

I CAN'T EVEN—

. . .

WHEN I GET ELIZABETA TO SQUEEZE HER HANDS AROUND YOUR NECK ON MY BEHALF—

Roderich Edelstein 2016-02-29

 **Elizabeta Hedervary: YOU DID NOT. JUST. INSULT. COSPLAY.**

. . . I'm fine. Everything's fine. Don't worry, no reason to worry about anything in the slightest! Just remain your usual, oblivious, unsuspecting self and everything will turn out juuuust fine~ ^w^

Elizabeta Hedervary 2016-02-29

* * *

 **Stopped** **by the apartment this morning!**

 **2016 March 1 (Tuesday)**

* * *

Blogging from Liz and Roddy's couch today! Roderich and Elizabeta are doing boring wedding planning stuff in the kitchen, so I figured I'd rather lounge on this comfy couch than expose myself to those levels of unawesomeness. Seriously, I thought they would've given up that joke by now! It's not funny anymore, guys. Totally.

I asked about Alfred, but they say they haven't seen him all morning.

* * *

 **[Comments (3)] [Show comments]**

* * *

 **Elizabeta Hedervary: Yeah, GILBERT. It's not funny anymore.**

Now you better help me pick out a fcaking awesome color scheme for the invitations or you won't be getting one. ^w^

Elizabeta Hedervary 2016-03-01

 **Gilbert Beilschmidt: Ja, I know, right?**

Liz, you even read my blog in the kitchen? I'm touched, kesese—HEY, I HAVEN'T EVEN POSTED THIS COMMENT YET STOP YELLING AT ME FINE ALRIGHT I'LL JOIN YOU GUYS IN YOUR UNAWESOME FAKE-WEDDING-PLANNING KITCHEN YOU TWO LAME-OS! !

Gilbert Beilschmidt 2016-03-01

 **Berwald Oxenstierna: IKEA**

Hnnn . . . IKEA is waiting for you.

Berwald Oxenstierna 2016-03-01

* * *

 **ALFRED** **I KNOW YOU'RE NOT READING THIS BUT YOU BETTER HAVE A GOOD REASON FOR IGNORING MEIN AWESOME CALLS DAMMIT!**

 **2016 March 1 (Tuesday)**

* * *

It's night already but none of us have heard from Alfred all day. Totally unawesome, am I right?

But anyway, I'm going to be staying in Roderich and Elizabeta's apartment until he gets back.

* * *

 **No** **Title**

 **2016 March 2 (Wednesday)**

* * *

JUST WOKE UP

EAGLE WAS STANDING ON MEIN AWESOME FACE TOTALLY UNAWESOME BTW WTF

WHAT IS GOING ON IT'S FLYING AROUND THE APARTMENT NOW FEATHERS EVERYWHERE AHAWWAEFNFDIASFADZ IT.S IN MY FSACE AGAin jELP safawEASPW

OH LOOK IT'S LIZ (& RODDY BUT MOSTLF LIZ OFC) I'M SAAAVED THANKS LIZ

WAIT NVM RODDY'S KEEPING IT DISTRACTED WITH HIS FACE NOW THANKS RODDY

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 **Al's** **back! Also, I'm totally not eavesdropping!**

 **2016 March 2 (Wednesday)**

* * *

Right now Liz is having a reeeaally long talk with him about why avian creatures shouldn't be allowed in the apartment. Alfred just mentioned something about Gilbird being an avian creature and being allowed in the apartment. Elizabeta said "Exactly."

. . . HEY! ! !

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 **Notes on this Chapter:**

 **Since recently it has stressed me out too much trying to make the blog posts match up with the present time, I've decided that I'll still date the blog posts but they won't be in present time anymore. ;w;**

 **Also I know it's brief but I missed him so there's your little dose of Berwald for the day! ^J^**

 **What's up with the eagle, though? Hopefully, you'll find out soon enough! And I didn't think I'd ever say this, but I really hope the next chapter will be more sad-and-reflective-sounding than this one. ^J^**

 **Feedback is greatly appreciated!**


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